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Chapter 51. The Delivery |
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t was too late to regret that he had not died in the arena. At first Dabar thought himself lucky, but the alternative was endless toil and humiliation. His captors saw him as little more than an animal and accorded him even less dignity. Whether Dabar died while fighting or laboring, it was of no consequence to the White Mantle. He was easily replaced. The meat eating captives would be fed his remains and his existence would be just as easily forgotten. Time was measured now by brief periods of blissful nothingness spliced between hours of toil. An intelligent beast of burden was a blessing in places that were dark and treacherous as his journeys beyond the island proved to be. He did not like the cramped confines of the menagerie, but after hours of hauling the heavy uncooperative load over shattered rock, he would have welcomed the reek and confinement. Refusing to fight his White Mantle opponent in the arena had sealed his fate. Of Farisa, he had no news. Now that his search had ended, he assumed she was dead. Her fiery spirit could not have endured in such a place, she would sooner have died in the arena than suffer his long undignified demise. He assumed that was the fate of his kin who had come here before him. Had he not held out hope for his beloved, he, too, would have chosen a quick and honorable end. His fellow laborers were not of the Veldrunner pride, but of some strange clan whose fur had a green cast. Dabar had so far never heard anything other than a roar or an occasional snarl, certainly nothing approximating language. He suspected all of them would also have happily died in the arena as well, but for reasons unknown they had ended up among the laboring contingent. They had crossed the ocean in stages, supplies and laborers in the first load and the rest in two subsequent sailings. The journey over the sea took but a day and ended on a wild jungle shore rimmed by mountains and thick with moisture coming off the distant swamp. There was an encampment walled with rough logs, indicating it was frequented by Kanen and his cohorts. Including himself, there were four centaur. As the party arrived in stages, a bulky sledge of green logs and hide was pounded together and loaded with six cages that were offloaded from the final voyage. A crude canopy of oilskins sheltered those imprisoned in the pens. Two contained bird creatures unlike anything he had known in Elona. Their shrieking and dry hisses were vaguely reminiscent of harpies, but they had a stooped aspect, sharp beaks and fierce crests. During the first few days they had fought gamely, hexing and hurling themselves against the bars when the guards drew too close. Then, demoralized and exhausted, they seldom stirred from where they huddled on the floor like discarded feathered capes. The other four captives continued to protest gamely, however, despite lack of food or the oppressive damp heat. These Dabar had come to know as Charr. They put him in mind of the tiger that had shared his journey to the island. These horned creatures, however, were massive, all bristling and snarling with powerful shoulders and terrible tempers. Two were clearly warriors as evidenced by the muscles that rippled under their striped pelts. The other two were leaner and dusky with subtle speckling. These were muzzled and carefully restrained. He assumed they were magi. The Charr had no compunction about throwing themselves against the bars when humans drew too close. Nor did they cease calling their captors ‘meat’ in the face of abuse. Dabar was not foolish enough to believe the Charr would show him any kindness should they escape, but he admired their spirit. He enjoyed seeing his human captors shriek in fear when a fist full of claws managed to slip between the bars. It was now his only source of amusement. They crossed the jungle in this way. For days there was only the slow straining through wilderness and the thunderous rumble of the sledge over uneven ground. Twice they ran afoul of the jungle’s denizens, but the two dozen humans made short work of the wolfish packs of feathered beasts that came swarming into their midst. The beasts were simply more meat for the pot and the journey continued. The White Mantle cleared the way with machetes as necessary. Sometimes the landscape forbade the passage of the bulky sledge and they had to leave the narrow path and take a long detour to meet up with it hours later. All the while, the humans openly taunted the caged ones, telling them they were being taken to their deaths. It was a final act of cruelty but it served only to make the Charr more determined to fight and escape. Finally they followed the trail to its end, arriving at a box canyon with no obvious path forward. Dabar had his first encounter with the mysterious Kanen. It was soon obvious that only a select few of the White Mantle could see the creature and they treated it with unwavering reverence. For his part, Dabar was terrified of it and he could not explain why. Perhaps it was because he had expected a human to be at the center of so much pain and misery. He was not alone in his fear. The other three centaur visibly quivered and the Charr were silent for once. Even among the humans that were unable to see the floating golden figure, there was a breathless quiet. Kanen barely acknowledged his worshipful servants and only glided over a strange circular platform engraved with a many-legged triangular glyph. A door that had previously been hidden in the cliff face ground open and soon after they were plunged into the eerie chthonic darkness. The way was sealed behind them and Kanen vanished. The humans fumbled with torches and soon the party crawled down into the depths in fits and starts. The stone floor was murderously slick in places or horrendously brittle and painful as it was now. The humans were on edge and drove the team nearly to collapse. The ground seemed to suck the heat out of his body when he knelt upon it and the short rests failed to invigorate him. It was as if the stone and the musty air sucked the life out of them. It seemed an eternity passed before they drew to a wobbling halt in the depths. Kanen drifted silently up a wide passage to greet them, the red actinic glow of the chamber below giving his unearthly form a bloody aspect. A silent conversation passed between the strange creature and Justicar Galdron. There was a smart salute and he turned to his two closest cronies and shouted orders. “Get up, mule,” Galdron growled at Dabar. By unfortunate happenstance, he was resting closest to the towering white-clad figure. As he staggered to his hoofed feet, Dabar had the satisfaction of noting how weary the humans were. They were snapping at one another and there was ample swearing and little hints of insurrection. Among the Veldrunners, it was said the best way to defeat humans was to sew discord. As well as being arrogant, they lacked cohesion and would kill one another just as readily. A pair of low ranked White Mantle released the traces that kept him tied to the heavy wagon tongue and replaced them with a thick rope tied to the ring in his collar. A second centaur was selected and one of the muzzled Charr was hauled out of a cage and dragged hissing and struggling between them. Dabar was then urged forward with a threat from the whip as the Charr tried to resist, only to be dragged on its belly by the superior strength of the centaurs. He pitied it even as its considerable bulk and struggles pained him. By the time they reached the end of the long passage and entered the red glowing chamber, its fierceness was replaced with raw terror. The floor of the round cave was the color of basalt but glowed with curtains of chaotic magic. Massive teeth of a strange reddish obsidian surrounded it and there was an enormous duplicate of the swirling triangle motif etched over the floor. And floating over the center in a storm of coruscating light was the man he had befriended in the boat. At least Dabar thought it might be him. He was much changed and Dabar had only clearly looked upon him once in the blazing sunlight of the hold. Yet he knew that face. It was the kind of face humans would celebrate in their arts, and his unusual green eyes glowed from within as he stared unblinking into nothingness, transfixed by the power rushing through and around him. “Pendaran, what has it done to you?” he silently asked, knowing that to speak would only create pointless suffering. The poor man was nearly naked but for ribbons of metal etched with strange characters and bolted to his frail flesh. His legs and arms were incised with glowing sigils as if he had been branded and the violet flames still smoldered within the wounds. The tautness of his throat and chest, the harsh lines around his mouth betrayed a level of pain Dabar could not begin to fathom. Was he alive? Was he conscious of what was happening to his poor body now? “Bring the Chaot here,” Justicar Galdron yelled at a gesture from the drifting golden figure. A pair of White Mantle heaved the limp creature to his quivering feet and frog marched it to the rim of the stone circle. “Kill it,” the strange creature said, its whispery voice thick with malevolence, “Let its blood slake the stone.” Dabar looked away as the rank metallic odor of the creature’s blood marred the chill air. He heard the White Mantle cry out in shock and pain as the chamber filled with a burst of chaotic light. Then, just as suddenly, there was darkness and silence. Dabar blinked as temporary blindness faded and he saw Pendaran’s form sprawled on the stone where the pillar of light had once pierced it. The unfortunate Charr lay motionless on the cool stone, its eyes glazed and lifeless. “Secure the others. I will need another in an hour,” the golden creature spat, “Pray that you brought me enough this time or I will be forced to use whatever is available.” “Master, I brought you six, twice what you requested. You told me this would be a simple ritual…” “Silence, Justicar, do not question your god.” The strange feathery fan of black tendrils at the creature’s shoulders thrummed with energies and its harsh masked visage turned upon one of the White Mantle flunkies that had hauled the hapless Charr to its death. The man screamed in pain and dropped writhing to the ground, clearly unable to see the source of the attack. Dabar instinctively backed away and the other centaur made a frightened bleat. The cold black stone of the chamber flared with an intricate curtain of power as the man died. No mark lay upon his body. And Pendaran stirred, the runes upon his flesh flaring with an internal violet fire. The face that turned toward them now was not human but was pierced with light, six hideous glowing eyes that burned with an unfathomable hatred. White flames curled from his crown and he rose slowly to his feet, drifting above the ground effortlessly. Dabar had seen such a one before. A Margonite. One of the humans reeked of having soiled himself and the odor followed him up the passage as he ran back toward the assembly of cages and his waiting brethren. “Haodrim, do you hear me?” the golden creature hissed. “I hear, Master,” the thing replied with a voice that curled from the depths. “Kill this man, he has failed me.” Justicar Galdron staggered backwards a few steps, then reached to his sword belt. “I have served you well, yet you reward me with this!” he snarled. “I am your god, I am testing your faith,” the golden one said coldly as the transformed figure drifted menacingly toward them. Galdron hesitated, sweat beading his brow as the image of death silently approached him. He clutched the hilt of his gladius and Dabar heard it grind free of the scabbard. Yet before he could make a move to attack the Margonite, it crumpled with a low moan of agony. The sickening violet flames faded, leaving only a frail human unconscious at their feet. “Pray again for your faith to grow stronger,” the golden one hissed, “When the ritual is done, I may let him kill you to punish your insolence.” |
